


Do You Trust Me?

by WordsmithingArtist



Series: Fire and Fate [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Animal Death, Fix-It, Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), Magic Revealed, Nobody is Dead, so yes something dies but not a character, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsmithingArtist/pseuds/WordsmithingArtist
Summary: Camelot is in danger and only Merlin knows how to stop it. There's just one problem. And one life-changing question. It's not what you think it is.Takes place before season 3.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Fire and Fate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735546
Comments: 10
Kudos: 140





	Do You Trust Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so for those of you who are on Fanfiction.net, this may be a familiar work to you. Yes, I wrote this years ago under the name WriterGirl7673 as the beginning of a longer series that I never finished. Part of that was due to obsessions with different fandoms and part of it was due to college. 
> 
> But I've just graduated (finally!) and I've been recently rewatching the show with my brother. So I went back to my fanfics and realized how awfully it was written. So this is a rewrite. There are parts of the old one that I like better (mainly the Merlin and Arthur dynamic), but I feel that I've told the overall story better this time around. If you're curious to see what the old one is like, just go here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11341348/1/Do-You-Trust-Me
> 
> Enjoy!

The clash of swords rang through the hallways as Morgana hurriedly ripped cloth into strips. Those dark creatures were coming closer and she’d seen the way Arthur had looked in the moments before he stepped out of the room for what might be the last time. Oh, great ancestors, they were all going to die.

The thought grew in her, bubbling and thrashing as if against chains. The Pendragon family were the closest things she had to a family of her own, even if she hated Uther most of the time. The idea of that, the awful certainty of loss made the words burst from her.

“He’s not going to survive out there.”

Merlin’s shoulders tensed, a heavy, almost aggressive line. Then something settled in him, his body steady and firm, his voice quiet. “I know…”

He looked at her then, in a way that he had not much done the entire time. It was heavy and certain despite the paleness of his face. She had seen some grim looks on him before, had never believed that he was as cheerful as he appeared, but this, _this_ , was different. This was _more_.

Her hands trembled and she clenched them tight around strips of rag. The raging panic was growing with every passing second, with every clash behind that door, with every slump in Merlin’s shoulders.

“We’ve got to do something.”

His face fell, darkening into resignation and despair for the briefest of minutes. Then something sharp and passionate flickered in his gaze and he set his jaw and stared at her.

“Morgana.” His words were weighted with authority that surpassed all others, contained futures in their depths. “Do you trust me?”

She stared wide-eyed at him. This was _Merlin_. The boy who ran after Arthur again and again to save his life, who stood by Gwen when her father died, who had helped her with the Druid boy, who had kept her _magic_ a secret and had tried to help her learn. He was kind and gentle and _Good_.

“How could I not?” she demanded. It was like asking her not to trust Gwen, or...or...her own dreams!

He jerked back a little, blinking heavily in the face of her vehemence. She took a deep breath and clenched her fists tighter. She would not take her fear and anger out on him, even if she didn’t understand why this mattered, not _now_. Not when creeping guilt and suspicion made her wonder if this was Morgause's doing, prompted by Morgana’s own admittance of hatred toward Uther. If it was, the blonde was playing a cruel and dirty game. Morgana would have never said anything if _this_ was the result!

Merlin was giving her a pleading look now, all wide, sincere eyes and worried brow and pale face. The churning in her gut was becoming a steady thrum under her skin and she couldn’t stop the next words from escaping.

“Of course, Merlin. We’re friends.” Were they? She thought they were. But why would he ask her this if he thought so too? “I trust you with my life.”

Surprisingly, he flinched. Was that not the answer he wanted? Yet, only moments later he met her gaze steadfastly, earnest determination shining in his eyes. There was still fear, though; a fear that seemed less aimed at the dangers around them and more aimed at her. Like she was the larger threat. Like she held the power to determine things.

This did not bode well.

“I know how to break the spell-” he began.

“Destroy the vessel; you said as much earlier” she interrupted. They didn’t have time for him to draw this out.

He nodded. “There’s more. I may have skipped the truth a bit when I said I didn’t know what it was. I needed time to figure out how to fix this.”

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by her exasperation. “Why didn’t you say so? I’m sure we could’ve helped you.”

There was the rage again. How could he have assumed that they couldn’t help? How could he think that it was only on him to solve things? He _could_ ask for help; why would they deny him that?

“Morgana,” he was pleading again. “Let me finish.” It was incredibly unfair when he turned those big blue puppy eyes on a person. Who could argue with that?

“I didn’t say anything because I can’t bear the idea of destroying it. It’s not a thing, it’s a person. I can’t do that! I won’t kill unless I have to. And I don’t think that’s needed.”

His loyalty and kindness eased something in her and made her want to respond in kind. But he continued before she could respond.

“Morgana, you are the vessel. That’s the reason why you aren’t tired and that’s the reason why the Knight didn’t kill you.”

“What? No! I _wouldn’t_ , I _didn’t_! I thought you weren’t afraid of my magic!” Her voice rose with every word, desperation clinging in her tone, drowning her in panic. He didn’t trust her. Now that she had magic, she must be “evil.” He was thinking about _killing_ her!

“I’m not.” His words were firm, steady, soothing. “Morgana, I will never be afraid of your magic so long as I know you on Camelot’s side. But Morgause wants the kingdom to fall and you might have let her win. She placed the spell on you. That’s the only way that it could be that powerful. It needs a living vessel.”

“No, she didn’t- she never mentioned- I didn’t…” she swallowed hard. “I didn’t know that. All I knew is that she hated Uther too.”

“She does. But she sees no problem with others falling in the cross-fire.” He paused for a second, then continued almost absent-mindedly: “And Arthur and Camelot are some of Uther’s biggest commitments, so she might see their destruction as a bonus.”

“How, how did you figure it out?”

“At first I thought that it was your magic keeping you awake. But I realized that can’t have been it…” His voice faded.

“And why is that?” She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound that aggressive. He glanced away for a second.

“Because I started feeling tired too.”

The words were quiet, but there was no need for anything louder than a whisper. She heard him clearly. Magic, he had magic.

“What?” Her voice had gone quiet too, matching his tone. She had thought nothing could surprise her anymore. She hadn’t considered this. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew I had magic. I trusted _you_. Did you really think that _I_ would see you killed?”

“No! No...I don’t… Morgana, I’ve been taught never to tell anyone about it. Ever. You’re the first person I’ve told. Anyone else who knows found out on accident. Any of my friends who know could be killed just for that. I thought you would be safer this way!”

She startled at the urgency in his tone, at his plea for understanding. It made sense, in a sad, sad way. Who exactly could the manservant of Arthur _Pendragon_ tell about his magic? But...

“Why would you protect Camelot? Uther would kill you if he knew. Why don’t you hate him?” Because, somehow, she knew Merlin didn’t hate the King, despite Uther’s cruelty.

“I pity Uther. He hates something he cannot understand. I protect Camelot for Arthur and the kingdom he will build. I protect it for my friends and all those innocents caught in a war they couldn’t stop. And even if it came down to saving Uther, I would. Because to do anything less is to be like him. One day magic will be free and I don’t want to lose my friends to something I can stop.”

She shivered at the certainty in his voice, the image that he built with words, full of promise and peace. She could practically _see_ the ivory towers gleaming the shimmer of magic and full of the happy voices of both magic and mundane.

“So,” he continued, voice soft again, “do you trust me?”

The power of his words made the panic ease, the anger harden into determination and the thrumming in her blood steady her voice. “What do you need me to do?”

With a gusty sigh, Merlin’s shoulders slumped and he gave her a tired grin. Then he shook himself and rubbed a hand across his face. “Right. Er, I need you to find the spell. It should feel different than your magic….”

He trailed off, stumbling toward the window, where he leaned so far out of it that for a moment she itched to grab him by the jacket and jerk him back to safety. But apparently, he needed to look around for something and she had a more important task: figuring out what magic _felt like_.

And how was she to know? It’s not as if she’d used any intentionally. She had never noticed, although to be fair, she hadn’t really been paying that much attention to how it _felt_. She had been more worried about having it in the first place. Should she be looking for something she feared? That didn’t sound right. None of the magic users she’d seen seemed like they’d use something that required such horrid emotions.

“I..I don’t really know what magic feels like…”

Merlin turned and cocked his head. “It, um...well, Gaius says that each magic-user feels it differently. I think...um...er, try feeling for it. It should feel like a hum in your mind. Not thoughts, exactly, but sort of. Like emotion and instinct and power all combined.”

She blinked. This was by far, the strangest conversation she’d ever had. But she didn’t have time for this. Turning her thoughts inward, she searched her mind for the feeling he had described. There was plenty of panic and rage, some protectiveness, an upswell of loyalty, but anything else was faint and very clearly memory or emotion. There was nothing else.

No, wait. There. In the back of her mind. Humming away as he’d said; thrumming under her skin and deep in her bones.

“I think I found it. It...feels like a churning river. Or maybe the adrenaline of a horse race… Is that it?”

He shrugged, reaching for something outside the window. “Probably. Mine feels more like dragon fire. Now try and find the spell.”

“What am I looking for?”

“Um... I don’t know. Warmth, maybe? Like a cozy blanket?”

Slowly, hesitant, she closed her eyes. Her head was beginning to ache from her last search, but this one seemed harder somehow. Now that she could identify her own magic, it was near impossible to ignore. It roared in her blood and sang in her mind, throbbing in time to her every breath. Next to that, all else was overshadowed. She threw her mind into the search, nearly missing Merlin’s next comment.

“Trying releasing your magic for a second. That should make it easier.”

She jolted when he spoke, and squeezed her eyes closed to keep her focus. Slowly, she undammed the river of magic in her veins and let it pool around her, soaking the room in the hum of magic. It rippled and spun in slow eddies, twisting away from her and back again. Watching its current, it didn’t take her long to find the spell. It sat around her like a cloak, warm and fuzzy... and humming a lullaby?

“I found it...What next?” She opened her eyes to find Merlin standing in front of her, a large white owl on his arm.

“Erm, I can’t actually break the spell. It’s too powerful. But I think if we work together, we can shift it.”

Shift it? Was that possible? Hadn’t he just said the only way to end the spell was to kill her? How was there now another solution? And, even so, would they be able to do it or was Morgause the only one capable of such a thing?

Still, this was Merlin. He had never failed them yet. She could give him her faith.

“How do we shift it?”

“Hold out your hands,” he commanded. He sounded so sure of this. Maybe it could work? Obeying, she watched as he carefully set the bird in her hands, which blinked at her with steady, sure eyes. Clearly, this was no ordinary owl. Not even a trained bird was _this_ calm.

Merlin placed his hands under hers, cradling them, supporting and ready to help.

“Now, I want you to release your magic again, this time mostly into your hands. I’m going to do the same.”

As he spoke she began to sense his magic flowing around them. When he had said that his magic felt like dragon fire, she had assumed that it felt brighter. That was a _complete_ understatement. His magic was fire and life and light and power. It licked hot against her skin and sent violent protective heat through her veins. It roared around them in a golden song and met her river head-on. Next to his power, her magic felt like a trickling brook.

“Morgana, I need you to harness my power and take hold of the spell. If you can, move it to the bird.”

Tentative, she obeyed. Her river rushed to meet his blaze—and exploded. They rocked back, hands slipping apart, owl wings flapping wildly. The currents in the room rocked and crashed, the lullaby humming smugly. The clash of swords was getting closer.

She lunged and grabbed his hands. “Again.”

They settled back again, the owl calm now. This time she tried to rein in the waters, to keep it slow. His fire met it, battling and consuming and extinguishing, clashing just as loudly as the blades outside. With a gasp, Merlin’s hands dropped, and he slumped, arms tiredly braced to stop his face from meeting the floor. The spell was sapping his strength and it wouldn’t be long until he could no longer stay awake.

She growled. They could not fail a third time.

“Come on, Merlin,” she ordered. “Just once more.”

This time she took hold of her river and turned it into a stream, weaving it slowly around the dragon fire. With the completed rope of passion and unstoppable force, she wove both around the cloak of a spell and tugged. It balked, the lullaby faltering.

It slipped.

This was it, this was her chance. She tugged harder.

That was her mistake.

It snapped back into place, winding even tighter around her, like the arms of a vice threatening to steal her breath. Panicked, she tugged harder, the combined magic fraying at the force, fighting her, burning and choking her, falling apart.

Merlin’s breathing was ragged and she knew he was no longer in a place to help. They had failed. She didn’t have the skill to shift it, and Merlin didn’t have the energy. Camelot was doomed. Doomed...unless she died.

Merlin’s magic was slipping away now, fading from her control like he was from consciousness. It would not be more than a matter of minutes until he and Arthur were gone. She needed to do this _now_.

She took a deep breath and-

A wave of pure power flooded the room, crashing into their currents and eddies, singing in tune with the songs in their veins. It was as if the earth itself had risen up and challenged their decision. It was the storm-driven sea and the roar of thunder overhead. It was gales of wind and the cry of a thousand men. It was forest fires and earthquakes. Magic itself had deigned to help them.

It wove itself around their faltering magic like a serpent, tugging tight like a warm hug and humming a proud smile. With a roar not unlike the dragons of old, Magic ripped the spell from her shoulders, leaving her eddies to crash gleefully against her as it shoved the lullaby into and around the owl in her hands. Chains of cold air and lightning trapped it in place so that it would never be shifted again.

Then, like a deep inhale, Magic vanished.

Merlin slumped over, panting and trembling, clearly unable to lift his arms. Morgana wanted to tend to him, but the lack of sound outside meant she had to work fast. She set the owl in her lap, grabbed its neck, and _wrenched_. A pop-snap and the lullaby shattered, the owl a dead-weight.

Merlin gasped, head rising to stare at her. He looked pale still, but less shaky now, eyes brighter and more alert. He glanced at the owl, then at her face, and grinned. She returned it with a triumphant smirk of her own. They’d won that battle.

Then he jerked, scrambling to his feet and bolting for the door. She shoved the owl off of her lap and stood too, watching as he unbarred the door.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Arthur!” he yelled as he darted from the room.

Grabbing her skirts, she ran after him, only to skid to a stop just around the corner. There came Arthur, striding around the corner. His sword was resting on his shoulder and his head was raised with that cocky smirk she would normally hate if it didn’t mean that he’d survived and that those dark creatures were finally _gone_.

* * *

“And how, exactly, did you best Morgause’s spells?” Uther asked, intrigued. Morgana wanted to know as well. How had the Knights been defeated?

Arthur’s lips thinned and his shoulders tensed, but those clues would only be noticeable to one as observant as Morgana, who had made it her life goal to annoy Arthur as much as possible. Uther, of course, was as blind to his son’s body language as he was to practically everything else.

However, no one would be able to tell Arthur was distressed by the tone of his voice. It was blunt and level, strong and sure. “They had me retreating. One of them got my sword away from me and I grabbed the first thing I could defend myself with—a torch. It appears that fire is their weakness; one hit and they crumbled to ash. Morgause fled when the spell broke.”

Uther nodded and turned to Gaius. “And what of the sleeping illness? Was that Morgause’s work as well?”

“It appears so, my lord,” Gaius replied. “From the reports of Prince Arthur, the Lady Morgana, and my ward, the illness arrived around the same time as the Knights and disappeared with their demise. I think it highly likely that we shall not see a spell like that again any time soon.”

“Good,” Uther stated. “Arthur, make certain that our forces increase their vigilance. Practitioners of magic will stop at nothing to see us destroyed—Morgause will be back.”

He rose from his throne and clapped Arthur’s shoulder. “However, tonight we shall celebrate our victory with a feast, in honor of my son’s courage and strength.”

The court clapped and Arthur bowed to his father. Morgana narrowed her eyes. Why did he look so constipated? He only did that when he lied. What had really gone on in that hallway?

* * *

Morgana kept meaning to mention Arthur’s strange reaction, but of course, Camelot’s luck would not hold out that long. The Great Dragon’s vicious attack distracted them for days and then Merlin was mourning his father’s death and walking around in a haze. She understood such grief and did not want to add to it.

Yet, she could not leave it alone. Arthur’s attitude was not quite the same as before. He was a touch quieter, a little more likely to think; which was wonderful! But that might leave him distracted at the wrong moment or call up more questions from people who should not be asking questions. Her pseudo-brother learning to introspect was a good thing, but she didn’t want him to hurt himself trying. After all, he was an idiot about emotions.

Only...she could not be the one to prompt him to open up. Not on this. Through the years, she had made herself his spurs to drive him to be the best prince possible, yet she had done so through antagonism. _If_ he opened up to her at all, it would be because she found his weak spots, but that might discourage further and future introspection—not a good thing for a future king.

No, for this it would have to be Merlin or Gwen who found the answers. She could only attempt to mend her past behavior to be a better support to the Once and Future King.

Fortunately, Merlin’s care for Arthur shone through his grief sooner rather than later and he quickly noted the prince’s odd behavior. Just as fortunately, his curiosity knew no bounds. Not two days after he first mentioned noticing it to Morgana, he had an answer.

“I found out why Arthur’s being less of a prat right now,” he stated randomly during their magic lesson.

Morgana looked up from her book on magical herbs. “Oh? And what little idea has him so shaken?”

Merlin’s face was solemn, but his eyes glittered with what looked to be both concern and excitement. An odd combination.

“He admitted that he wasn’t the one to destroy the Knights.”

“Then who did?” The thrum under Morgana’s skin whispered that his next words would alter something greatly.

“Apparently, he was saved by Magic.”


End file.
